Apology, I am not a writer. The following incidents are presented in chronological order and as accurately related as often vague memory permits. These recollections were put in writing specifically for ASE in hopes that they would either be of interest or, more likely, evoke pleasant memories for the reader. To me, reality is far more erotic than any fiction.
My very earliest memory, from about age three, of anything related to those things which later came to strike an erotic chord somewhere deep in my perverted psyche, was the enema bag usually to be found hanging in my parent’s bathroom. My parent’s equipment of choice was the folding enema/douche syringe. Back then, they were invariably made of natural latex with its characteristic color. At that age, I doubt that I had any idea of its use, but I clearly remember its’ presence.
The first experience of any kind that I can remember that could be called sensuous happened at age three or four probably and involves suppositories. In the big old house in the suburbs of small town where we lived, my aunt and uncle, Wilma and Will, young and just married, lived in a downstairs bedroom with its’ own bathroom.
I remember being in their room and bathroom with them, perhaps using the bathroom or bathing, and seeing and discussing suppositories. I do not recall being ill or constipated, nor do I remember any involvement of my parents. I do not even remember what lead up to the climax, so to speak. What I do remember is looking at the suppositories in the jar, feeling the slipperiness of them with my finger, and being told that they were used to make you have a bowel movement. Then, my next recollection is of Aunt Wilma, sitting on the toilet seat, taking down my pants and taking me across her lap. The memory of the pleasant sensation of the suppository being inserted into my rectum is vivid in my mind to this day. I also remember being surprised at the powerful urgency that I soon felt. I could not understand how that slippery little thing, pushed up my ass and held inside for a bit, could make me have to go to the bathroom so bad (good?).
The next image that I can call up, was having my temperature taken rectally. This happened when I must have been four or five. All that I recall is my mother’s concern that I was sick and her telling me to lie down on my little child’s bed. I had on pajamas and a bathrobe. She told me that she was going to take my temperature and left to find the thermometer. I do not recall earlier experiences but there had to have been some because I knew what was coming.
While my mother was gone, my Aunt Ellen, who I thought was a grown woman but who was actually only ten years older than I was, came into the room. I was a little worried, but thought surely my mother would not do it in front of Aunt Ellen. I was wrong. Mom came back and began chatting normally with Aunt Ellen. In that matter-of-fact mother-voice she said “turn over on your tummy.” I was embarrassed about what was happening but felt powerless to say or do anything about it. With Aunt Ellen standing at the foot of the bed talking to Mom, Mom, sitting on the side of the bed, turned my bathrobe up over my waist and pulled my pajama bottoms down to my knees.
While I lay there exposed, she opened the jar of Vaseline that she had brought with the thermometer, took the thermometer from its case and shook down the mercury. She lubricated the thermometer by sticking it down into the Vaseline. Having done that, she spread my cheeks with her thumb and finger, pressed the tip of the thermometer directly into the opening of my anus and said : “Relax your bottom, Honey, so I can put the thermometer in.”
As with the suppository, the sensation of the cold glass thermometer going in was very nice, indeed! All the while she was waiting for my temperature to register, Mom held the thermometer between her fingers, her hand resting on my bottom, and chatted with Ellen. I lay there feeling the thermometer sticking in my ass, thinking about Mom and Aunt Ellen seeing me like that and being embarrassed, but feeling a pleasant naughtiness that I did not understand. Now, do not get me wrong, I do not think of my mother as bad, perverted, abusive or anything less than a normal person and loving mother, but at that time and since, I have wondered if that scene had been orchestrated for the benefit of Mom and Elllen, her younger sister.
Two or three years after the temperature episode, around age six or seven, I had been home from school sick in bed for several days with some minor childhood disease. I do not remember feeling bad or complaining, but I remember my mother saying : “What you need is an enema.”
I did not know what an enema was, but hating bad tasting medicine and remedies in general, I kept quiet and the subject passed. Some while later, again I can not remember what precipitated it, Mom said : “An enema will make you feel better; will you let me give you one?”
OK, I am a little worried, but I have got to find out what this is about. So help me God, I asked : “Is an enema a pill or is it liquid?”
She said : “Well, it’s liquid, kinda; come in the bathroom, I’ll show you.” In the bathroom, she showed me the enema bag and explained what having an enema involved. Again, she was quite matter-of-fact and proceeded on the assumption that I was going to cooperate. The only objection that I tried to raise was to ask if it was going to hurt. She assured me that it would not hurt. She had me sit on the toilet seat while she fixed the soapy water and filled the two- quart enema bag about half full. For the life of me, I can not remember the position she had me assume. I think that I was down on the floor, but I do not recall whether I was on my stomach, side or knees. I do plainly remember being surprised that it did not hurt, it felt good, when she inserted the enema nozzle.
I also remember the rather surprising sensation when she released the water to flow into me. I complained that I could not stand it, that I could not take it and had to go to the bathroom, right then! Mom coaxed me to relax and let the water go in so I would feel better. She controlled the flow by squeezing the hose clamp partially closed and gently moved the nozzle around a little to make sure it was going in. The sensations we new and exciting. Mostly it felt good but I was afraid I would have an accident. Once the bag emptied itself into me, she let me sit on the toilet but told me to hold it as long as I could so it would work. No sooner was she out the door when I began expelling the enema. Later she fussed with me a little for not holding it longer. Again, since I do not remember feeling bad or complaining of stomach pain or constipation, I am not sure whether that enema was for my benefit or for Mom’s.
Sometime after the first enema experience, I remember sitting on the toilet reading an old Sears catalog, circa 1950’s, and discovering enema and douche equipment displayed in the catalog. Never have I studied anything so intently. The syringes offered came with a douche nozzle, a standard enema nozzle and a colon tube. On reading the catalog and studying the pictures, I remembered the same equipment in my parents bathroom. I particularly remembered and wondered about the colon tube which, as I recall, was sort of coral in color, about the diameter of a pencil and a foot-and-a-half long. The very tip of it was solid and rounded, the opening was on the side slightly behind the tip.
By this time I may have known better, but for a long time I had assumed that the nozzle used on me was a child’s enemas nozzle and the larger douche nozzle was an adult enema nozzle. From reading ASE, it seems some folks do see it that way! I remember once asking my mother or father if that was the case and while I do not remember the exact answer, I was given to understand that that was not so, no explanation was given.
It was two or three uneventful years after my first enema before there was any more action. I was in the eight, nine, ten year old range. By this time, my family, my grandmother, and my Aunt Wilma all lived in different places, though Wilma and Will lived close to Grandma’s. My mother and I were visiting Grandma for a few weeks in the Summer when I got thoroughly and miserably constipated. My stomach stuck out and was hard. Try as I might, I could only occasionally shit a little pebble of a turd.
As soon as my mother learned of my condition, she was quick to swing into action. Mom asked Grandma if she had any enema equipment. Of course she did. She told Mom that it was hanging in the medicine closet in her bathroom. Mom took me into Grandma’s bathroom and got out the enema bag. Unlike Mom’s, this one was one of the red rubber ones with a black enema nozzle. Not my preference, then or now. At my age at that time I was old enough to be positively mortified by the idea of having to take down my pants in from of my mother, any woman, but especially my own mother. However, I was uncomfortable enough to submit to most anything in order to feel better and recognized the enema as an instant solution (pun accidental, but not too bad).
While she prepared my enema, Mom told me to take off my pants and lie down on the floor. The floor was cold Linoleum partly covered with a small bath mat. Trying not to expose myself, I took off my pants and underpants and lay down on the bath mat on my stomach. I am sure that I had not started having erections by this age, but I remember being distinctly aware of my penis as I lay down on the hard floor. Mom hung the enema bag on a towel bar on the side of the sink and kneeled down beside me.
First, she lubricated the enema nozzle with Vaseline and then applied a dab directly to my asshole. She did not put her finger into me, but recall being embarrassed when my anus winked involuntarily. Once everything was lubricated, she spread my ass cheeks and inserted the nozzle. I do not know why, maybe things were not adequately lubricated, maybe it was my condition, but the insertion of the nozzle was uncomfortable. I felt bad, my cock was mashed between my body and the hard floor, the enema nozzle hurt and things were destined to get worse. As soon as the flow was started, I felt water running on the outside of me and down between my legs. I was wet and the floor was getting wet under me. I never really understood what the problem was, but the result was that after trying what she could, my mother said it was just not going to work.
So now, I have been truly embarrassed, made more uncomfortable and have still gotten no relief. Later that afternoon, I was sitting on the toilet, trying and praying just to be able to shit. A tap on the bathroom door and Aunt Wilma’s voice “Bud, your mom says you aren’t feeling too well.”
“No, I don’t feel good at all.”
“Why don’t you come home with me, I’ll give you an enema and you can eat with us and spend the night with the girls. I give my girls enemas all the time.” I was paralyzed with fear! As bad as I felt and as much as I needed to go to the bathroom, I could not possibly face Aunt Wilma taking me home and giving me an enema. I still regret that decision. Her offer would have solved my problem and likely been the best enema story I would ever have had.
Shortly after that, I was visiting Aunt Wilma’s house. My oldest girl cousin, a couple of years younger than me, very pretty and the object of my first sexual attention (baths together, playing doctor …) and I were playing outside. Somehow, I managed to bring the conversation around to enemas. She confirmed what Aunt Wilma had told me. She and her sisters were given enemas with some frequency. The procedure was always the same, though sometime a bulb syringe was used and other times a bag was used.
One at the time, the girls would be told to go into the bathroom. The enema, whether a basin of warm soapy water and a bulb syringe or a red rubber enema bag full of warm soapy water, would be ready and waiting for them. Aunt Wilma would make them take off all their clothes and, kneeling on the floor, bend over the side of the bathtub. Once in position, Aunt Wilma would spread their cheeks and rub their little assholes with a wetted bar of soap. The nozzle would also be soaped up. The enemas were then given. I got the distinct impression that they were no-nonsense affairs - Aunt Wilma told them what to do, they did it, they did not complain and she administered the enemas to her satisfaction.
Once they had been given their enemas, Aunt Wilma stayed with them, made them hold the enemas as long as she thought necessary. She monitored the results and repeated the process if she thought it was called for. I am not sure how old I was at the time we were having this conversation, but I am sure that I did not know about sexual arousal. But, aroused I was. Aroused enough to be way too bold. After much discussion and coaxing, I talked Libby into going into the house and complaining to her mother that she had a stomach ache so that she would get an enema and to ask her mother if I could be with her! Stupidity or balls?! The ridiculous scheme was partially successful - Libby got the enema all right, but of course I did not get to watch. Wish I could have just peeked through the window or keyhole.
Unfortunately, unless I have overlooked something, that was to be my last childhood experience tinged with the wickedness of our little quirk. If there is any interest, I will relate teenage and young adult experiences some other time.
This essay begins where the previous “Recollections - Early” left off, roughly just before I reached puberty. As with the earlier essay, the following incidents are presented in chronological order and as accurately related as often vague memory permits. These recollections were put in writing specifically for ASE, in hopes that they would either be of interest or, more likely, evoke pleasant memories for the reader. The character of these experiences is entirely different from the earlier ones, perhaps because the innocence is gone. I hope as many people will find the later episodes as interesting as they did the earlier ones. I heard from a lot of nice people. If anyone else has personal experiences to share privately or would like to discuss this subject or others, I would welcome hearing from you. Hope you enjoy!
If you have read the description of my enema related memories from early childhood, you know that I have found anal stimulation exceedingly pleasurable from my very earliest recollection. The previous account, as mentioned above, left off somewhere on the eve of puberty. My next sexually colored experiences were the usual pubescent experiments with other nine, ten, eleven year old boys.
At the age we are talking about now, things sexual preoccupied the minds of my friends and me. Unfortunately, even though we had “girl friends” and were learning to “make out” and fantasized about “feeling them up,” for most of us satisfying heterosexual experiences were some ways in the future. Mostly, we talked about girls, lied about girls and went home to “beat off” in private. The only enema related memories that I can dredge up from this era are images of looking at and handling the enema/douche bag in my parent’s bathroom. On a couple of occasions at least, when my parents were away, I would lubricate the small enema tip with Vaseline and stimulate my self by sliding it in and out of my ass. I would nearly ejaculate just from the anal stimulation. I do not recall ever thinking about or daring to actually give myself and enema. At no time during this period, do I remember any other personal or vicarious experience related to our little kink.
Sometime later in my teen years, I did use my parent’s equipment several times to give myself tap-water enemas. I do not remember how often this happened, but the routine was always about the same. When an opportunity arose by my parents extended absence, I would take off all my clothes and put on a light, thin bathrobe. Just knowing what I was about to do, would make my cock start to get hard. I would then go to their bathroom and take off my bathrobe, fill the two-quart, amber colored, latex, folding enema bag with plain tap water - sometimes warm, sometimes cold. Then I would grease the enema nozzle and my asshole with Vaseline. By this time, I would have a really fierce hard-on. With the enema bag hanging on a towel bar, I would assume whatever position struck my fancy, insert the nozzle and start the flow.
My usual position for taking these self-administered enemas was either sitting upright on the toilet or lying on the floor. After reading a scene in a book, by Henry Miller I think, in which a woman douches herself while lying on her back on the floor with her legs sticking straight up a wall, I used that position for an enema at least once. The small enema tip had to be held in place, of course, and I would move it gently in and out a little, while the enema flowed slowly, filling me up until I though I would burst. While holding all the water inside me, I would frantically wash the enema nozzle thoroughly with soap, rinse out the enema bag and hang it up to dry. While I was doing all this, I would have an almost painfully hard erection and would be struggling to hold what I thought was a huge enema inside me. Once everything was back as I had found it, I would dash the length of the house to my bathroom for relief from the enema and the erection.
As far as I can recall, I had no enema experiences or fantasies during my college years. It’s a pity though, because I failed to develop what almost assuredly could have been the opportunity of my lifetime. In fact it very realistically could have significantly changed my life, but who is to say for better or for worse. For a few months, I was engaged to marry a senior nursing student. This was a very bright young lady with a well developed libido. We had wonderful plain-vanilla sex, but thanks probably entirely to ignorant, innocent me, we never got around to exploring any of the more creative possibilities. Very near the end of our relationship, which I ended and do not want to talk about why, she hinted that she wanted to try anal intercourse. We never did. For her even to broach this subject, however, it had to be something important to her, and she had probably experimented some by herself. I am sure that enemas and things medical that arouse me so would have been completely acceptable to her.
After breaking up with the nurse, who graduated from nursing school and moved away to go to graduate school, it was a year or two before I met the woman who I would eventually marry and be married to “until death do us part.” Unfortunately, death may part us when she kills me. If that happens, it will not be entirely because of enemas, and will be because I deserve it.
When Sue and I first met, she was separated but still married to her first husband. She had a son who was three or four at the time. Due to her marital status, our relationship developed slowly and had to be kept, more or less, quiet. We were chatting one night at a Christmas party. She had gotten to the party late and was harried. In telling me about the problems and delays that caused her stress, she commented “ … first I had to pick-up my little boy from the nursery and take him to the doctor, then I had to run all over town to three drugstores before I could find one that had a &#@*%, enema, then I had to take him home and give him an enema before the baby-sitter came … .” There it was, she had said that taboo E word twice. I had not understood what kind of enema it was that she had to get, but the mental picture of this lovely young woman with her child over her knees, giving him an enema, twanged a sharp erotic chord in me. In a conversation several days later, I maneuvered the subject back to her little boy and the enema episode. I asked her what kind of enema it was that she had mentioned and she explained Fleet premixed disposable enemas to me. I did not know about those then and do not like anything about them now, but the conversation on that subject was stimulating to me and progress in a relationship.
The corporation we worked for sent Sue and me, along with several other employees, out of town to school for a week. By this time, our relationship had come along nicely. We were secretly living together, pretty comfortable with each other generally and were having great sex. On this trip, however, we had to have separate hotel rooms and keep up appearances for the benefit of the other employees with us. We did manage to have most of our out-of-class time alone together. When we were getting ready to go to dinner on the third evening of the trip, I was not feeling well. As we discussed it, we concluded that it was probably just constipation from a steady diet of restaurant food, an erratic schedule and being away from home. Sue then says “I don’t feel great myself, I guess I’ve got the same problem.” I am not too quick, but I am beginning to see a glimmer of potential in this situation. In an eruption of unusual boldness I said “if we were home, I’d use the enema tip with your douche bag and give myself an enema.” Could not believe I had said that! Sue went me one better. She said “we could pick-up a couple of Fleet enemas over at the drug store and not have to feel bad from now until we get home on Saturday.” Now, that is progress! Needless to say, I jumped on that suggestion without pause. As you will see, even though I am instantly excited by the mere mention of the enema topic, I still have not even considered the most basic potential. Naive, naive, naive!
Neither of our conditions could have been too bad. We went out for a bite to eat and on the way back to the hotel, I had to remind Sue that we needed to go by the drug store. We went in the drug store and found the Fleet enemas, bought two and headed back to the hotel. When we got back to the hotel, we both stopped at my room for a drink and, inevitably, sex, as we did every night. While sipping our drinks, Sue said something about the enemas, I do not recall what she said. Brilliant me says, “yeah, I think I’ll do that right before I go to bed tonight.” Sue then matter-of-factly asked “aren’t you going to let me give you your enema?” Just as in the Aunt William episode, related in my recollections of earlier days, having never actually considered the erotic potential of sharing an enema experience, embarrassment caused me to immediately reject the idea. The idea of Sue seeing and fooling around with my asshole was humiliating. Excuse me, but how goddam dumb could I have been?! I had already learned that just the thought of enemas, let alone the actuality of an enema, aroused hell out of me. How, why, in the world did I react as I did? Well, I already told you I am not too quick. We did, of course, have sex, then when it was time for Sue to slip back to her room for the night, she took one of the Fleet enemas out of the bag, leaving it on the vanity in my room and took the bag and the other enema with her.
Privacy at last. As soon as I was alone, I got the enema and examined it. The concept is pretty simple, but I had never before seen a Fleet enema. The naughty little line drawings on the side of the box, depicting the two recommended positions for taking the enema, caught my attention and I read the directions several times, savoring the scant but titillating details. Even just having had satisfying sex, the prospect of the enema was somewhat exciting. I took off my clothes, lay down on my left side as the instructions dictated and gave myself the enema. It was as I was actually giving myself the enema that I realized how erotic it would be for Sue to be doing this to me. It was exactly the same humiliation that had flashed into my mind when she suggested her giving me the enema, and that had caused me to reflexively reject her suggestion, that would be so exciting. Besides the wonderful physical sensations of being given an enema by someone else, the humiliation itself would be exquisite. I may have passed up another opportunity, but I had finally learned something important. Maybe the lost opportunity was recoverable. In any case, the Fleet enema, while better than nothing, was not great either. Whether or not it solved the problem, it definitely was not very satisfying. I do not even remember that it stimulated and aroused me enough to need to masturbate.
The next morning, I asked Sue if she felt better. She said “not much, the enema really didn’t work all that well.” Ever anxious for more details and to press the subject further, I asked her how she used the enema. She told me that she had given it to herself sitting on the toilet. I grumped that that was just like her, not to follow the directions and that that may have something to do with the enema not working. I also admitted that the Fleet enema did not do much for me either. I told her that if I did not get better by the time we got home, the first thing I was going to do was use her enema/douche bag to give myself a good warm soapsuds enema. Things did not improve - I probably did not want them to improve and would not have admitted it if they had!
Before the several hour drive home, I told Sue that my little problem was worse than ever and that I could not wait to get home and have a real enema. She said that she still had the same problem, too. The trip home was exquisitely miserable. Sue and I were in my car, but we were not alone, we had others riding with us. Visualizing Sue’s amber colored folding enema/douche bag, hanging in the bathroom, bulging with warm soapy water, was almost too much for me to stand. Hoping to get Sue involved in the process added to my sexual tension. The thought of giving her an enema was almost too arousing to bear. With others in the car, I could not even mention what I was thing about. I was so horny, I was afraid everybody could somehow tell it. I was so aroused, I was afraid I would just cum in my pants. The several hours that it took to get home seemed like interminable delicious torture.
We finally got the others dropped off. As soon as we were alone, I told Sue that the only thing on my mind was getting to my place, where her enema bag was, and having a good thorough enema. After a couple of stops for dry cleaning and groceries, during which the tension continued to build, we did eventually get home. The details of the ensuing enemas, sex play, argument, orgasms, … all run together. I do remember getting out the enema bag and preparing the first enema myself. As always, the sight, heft and feel of the full, warm enema bag were exceedingly erotic to me. I am sure that Sue administered the enema I had prepared to me. I do not remember where or how. We had a little spat. After my enema or enemas, I wanted to give Sue an enema. At the moment, besides still being very sexually aroused, I was feeling very intimate and close to her. My feelings were hurt and I did not understand why she would not be eager for me to do to (for) her what she had done to me. My reaction, stupidly and unfortunately, was anger. I am sure that I came on pretty ugly, at least very insensitive. I said something like “This really pisses me off. In the first place, you actually need the enema; it would make you feel better. In the second place, you wanted to, and I let you, do it to me. What the hell is wrong with you?!” The angry question was never answered. It seems that she finally grudgingly submitted and allowed me to give her an enema, but I do not really recall anything about it. We did solve both of our real or imagined constipation problems and had plenty of physically satiating sex. Unfortunately though, while I think things could have been different, Sue was never again particularly interested in the erotic potential of enemas.
After that first experience of erotically charged shared enemas, that scenario figured prominently in my fantasies. As I explained, Sue was never keenly enthusiastic about the subject, nor do I think she really understood my infatuation. From that time through the early years of our marriage, she would once in a blue moon say something like “I don’t feel too good, I think we better work on my stomach,” meaning, of course, that she wanted me to give her an enema. I lived for those times. Nothing has ever been more erotic to me than having her want me to give her an enema. Well, maybe one other thing. That is, the fantasy of her dominating and humiliating me and giving me an enema on her terms. We played at that scenario a time or two, but it never seemed to mean anything to her and was, therefore, not very satisfying to me. More satisfying than the reality of that scenario, were the fantasies on that theme which Sue talked me through several times while masturbating me. Done well, that may be better than the reality could ever be. A few times over the years, I have asked Sue to give me enemas either because of or on the pretext of being constipated. Good but not great.
Once, before a routine diagnostic medical procedure, Sue had to have two Fleet enemas. One the night before and another the next morning before she left home. She bought the enemas on the way home from the doctor visit at which the upcoming procedure was discussed and scheduled. She knew that I would be excited about giving her the enemas and it seemed to me that she was not unenthusiastic about the prospect herself. She mentioned it more than once between the time she first learned about it and the time came to do it. When the time came, the atmosphere was highly sexually charged. You see, what has not been mentioned in these two essays is the fact that the enema kink is extremely erotic to me, my most overwhelming quirk, however, is about things medical. Now, on the eve of Sue going off to our family doctor, a highly regarded internist in our city, for a flexible sigmoidoscopy, I am beside my self anyway, and get to give Sue an enema, albeit a crummy Fleet enema, to boot. It does not get any better than that! Before bed time, Sue brought me one of the Fleet enemas and asked me how I wanted to give it to her. Of the two recommended positions, she knew damn well that I would make her take it in the naughtier knee-chest position. So, I told her “take off everything and get on your knees on the side of the bed, put your chest down and spread your legs.” One of my, and her, favorite positions anyway, it was hard not to just fuck her then and there. Anyway, I remember giving her the enema, but do not recall what kind of sex followed. Since she was going to the doctor the next morning, she may well have just masturbated me, which I love, especially when supplemented with a good fantasy. The morning enema was performed the same way and off to the doctor she went.
By the time the above incident occurred, enemas had long since disappeared from our lives. There was not even an enema bag in our house. Now, that is a sad circumstance! Sometime after that, the old fetish started gnawing at me badly, maybe I had discovered ASE by then, but for whatever reason, it was back in full bloom. I broached the subject in conversation, mostly during fantasy sessions, a couple of times and finally got up the nerve to buy a new enema bag. The only one available in the drugstore I had the nerve to buy it in, was one of the red rubber combination syringes. That kind of bag had never excited me much, but it would provide the desired enemas and, who knew, maybe grow on me. Well nothing much happened. Sue indulged me with enema fantasies a couple of times, but never gave any indication that she would ever initiate a real enema session. The bag remained hidden with our sex toys for a long time. At some point, I got or pretended to get (you know I am bad about that) constipated and asked Sue to give me an enema later that evening. The evening came and went and my request was completely ignored. The next morning, after I was already dressed for work, I was horny and/or constipated and said to Sue “I am really miserable, my stomach feels like a brick, I think we better enema me.” Sue fixed a warm soapy enema for me while I got undressed and lay down on the bed. Without ado, she gave me the enema and went about her business. Again, good but not great. Once or twice, while Sue was out of town, I would get out Ol’ Red and give myself an enema, but that was just not very exciting to me anymore.
Since that before-work, morning enema several years ago, there have been no more real life shared enema experiences. Occasionally, Sue does excite me with an enema fantasy while she masturbates me to orgasm. That is pretty wonderful, but does not completely satisfy the urge. Sue is obviously not insensitive to my thing, but she is just not as caught up in it, or is not willing to admit that she is, as I am. I am not complaining; our sex life may be able to be better for me, but it is damn good. Thanks, Sue, for the pleasure we have shared!